


Misadventure

by kathkin



Series: witcher prompt fills [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: “I adore you,” says Jaskier.“Yeah, I know,” says Geralt. “That’s your problem."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: witcher prompt fills [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093319
Comments: 22
Kudos: 385





	Misadventure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [some-stars](http://some-stars.tumblr.com/) for the following prompts from [this two part drabble challenge](https://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/639250814299521024/two-part-drabble-game):
> 
> _17 - One is recovering from a wound/illness_
> 
> _35 - “You wanna bet?”_

His first thought, when he opens his eyes and sees grey darkness above him, is _I’ve gone blind_. Then he blinks, and registers that he can, dimly, see the ceiling. He tries to say, “oh, thank fuck,” but his voice comes out hopelessly garbled.

“What’s that?” says someone beside the bed.

Jaskier makes several attempts to sit up. His arms are soft and limp like uncooked dough. After his third attempt, a pair of strong hands take him and prop him up, and he lets it happen.

Turning his head, he tries to get his eyes to focus. “ _Geralt?_ ” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“Where do you think you are?” says Geralt.

He looks around the room, which is plain and cold and unfamiliar. “Am I dead?”

“Not quite.” Geralt’s hand is on his back, holding him up, and it feels very big and warm. He hopes Geralt leaves it there for a good long time.

Nothing hurts, but the room is foggy and he has no idea how he came to be in it. His teeth feel too big for his mouth. His legs are as soft and dough-like as his arms. “Am I dying?”

“Not anymore,” says Geralt, which is far from an encouraging statement. “You got poisoned.”

“Poisoned?” Jaskier echoes.

Geralt starts explaining what happened – which is to say he starts a monster lecture, about venom and barbed tails and bloodstreams. Jaskier doesn’t listen. The more he adjusts to his whereabouts, the more familiar they are. He’s never been in _this_ particular room before, but he’s pretty sure he’s been in similar ones. There’s a faint but noticeable scent of ale in the air.

“Are we in a pub?” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Great,” he says. “I need a drink.” So saying, he makes a valiant and doughy effort to stand up.

“You can’t walk.” Geralt shoves him back down.

“You wanna bet?” says Jaskier, struggling and squirming until his feet touch the floor. That’s the hard part over, he thinks, and heaves himself upright.

Then for a moment he’s falling, the room spinning around him; but before the floor can rise up and clobber him Geralt’s arms are around him, holding him up. “ _Oh_ ,” he says. “Oh, you’re strong.”

“Back to bed.” Geralt scoops him up, an arm under his knees, and lays him back down. Jaskier lets it happen. That little misadventure seems to have knocked all the stuffing out of him.

“Geralt,” he moans. “Geralt, I’m definitely dying.”

“You definitely aren’t,” says Geralt. “The poison’s out of your system already. You’re just tired.”

“Please don’t let me die,” says Jaskier. “I haven’t – I haven’t finished the song I was writing.”

“You’re not going to die.” Geralt tucks the blanket around him. “Your songbook’s safe. You’re going to write plenty more songs in it. Your lute’s over there. I’m not going to take any messages to any ladies for you and I’ll buy you a drink once you’re better. Go back to sleep.”

“Huh.” Jaskier stares breathlessly at the ceiling. It occurs to him that this might not be the first time they’ve had this conversation. Thinking about it, he hazily recalls pleading for – something he doesn’t remember. Geralt’s hand, on his forehead, soothing him as he wept. _You’re fine_ , he remembers Geralt saying. _I know it hurts. Just need to sweat it out. Don’t be scared_. “You’re very sweet,” he slurs.

“No, I’m not,” says Geralt firmly. He touches Jaskier’s face, fingers warm against his cheek. “I’m mean. Go back to sleep.”

“I adore you,” says Jaskier.

“Yeah, I know,” says Geralt. “That’s your problem. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes,” says Jaskier faintly.

Geralt puts a cup to his lips and pours water into his mouth. Jaskier swallows, and sobs, and swallows again.

He closes his eyes, and sinks back into darkness.


End file.
